


Stormed In

by Mango_Lioncat



Series: Were-bear AU [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: (BEAR?? STYLE??), Anal Sex, Breeding, Claiming Bites, Connor and Hank fuck, Creampie, Dirty Talk, Doggy Style, Don't Like Don't Read, Enthusiastic Consent, M/M, Mates, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Praise Kink, Sorcerer Connor, Were-bear Hank, i dont know sex positions, in hank's bear form, lucky connor, they're in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:54:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26464504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mango_Lioncat/pseuds/Mango_Lioncat
Summary: Caught in a harsh and cold summer storm, cursed were-bear Hank and sorcerer Connor find refuge in Hank's den, and also take intimate comfort with each other.Takes place from an AU thread I wrote on Twitter, going to upload the entirety of the thread to Ao3 at some point. There are no spoilers for that thread here and you can read this if you haven't read that. The basic gist is that Hank was cursed as a bear, and found Connor (a sorcerer) in the woods and are trying to find a way to break the spell and have fallen in love along the way. During the full-moon, Hank turns back into a human, but this fic does *not* take place during one of those nights. This story occurs somewhere mid-story when the two already have an established relationship.HEED THE TAGS!!! Read at own risk!!
Relationships: Hank Anderson/Connor
Series: Were-bear AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1923871
Comments: 16
Kudos: 94





	Stormed In

**Author's Note:**

> READ THIS BEFORE CONTINUING--!!
> 
> In this fic Connor and Hank have EXPLICIT SEXUAL RELATIONS with each other while Hank is in his were-bear form, which is really just a big grizzly bear. Both are present of mind and body and are consenting adults to everything that happens in this but if the idea makes you feel uncomfortable or offends you and you don't like it then DO NOT READ. If you read the whole thing knowing this and decide to get upset at me for posting this filth then I'm just going to shrug at you because I left warnings all over the place and it's your own fault, sorry not sorry.
> 
> but for the REST of you gremlins that I know will absolutely enjoy this totally self-indulgent filth.. welcome :) I'm thinking of several of you in particular and I bet you know who you are. I hope you enjoy this segment of Were-bear Hank and magic boy Connor.
> 
> To those who haven't read this thread, you can find it at my Twitter! @MLioncat- the whole thing is available in my Moments tab, though I will be publishing the full were-bear AU to Ao3 hopefully sooner than later.
> 
> Enjoy!

“Mm, no, wrong one. It looks like _this_.” Connor holds up the book, pointing again to the sketch. His bear companion grumbles low in his throat, leaning forward and peering at the page. Of course it would be easier to focus if the sorcerer wasn’t looking so damn charming, those big brown eyes that Hank could easily get lost in, wide and enchanting in a way that’s solely their own.

Connor must follow the bear’s train of thought, because something warm and pleased crosses his eyes. His expression softens, and he offers a small smile. “The plant you’re looking for is on the _page_ , Mr. Bear. Not in my eyes.”

Hank grumbles again, but instead of doing what the sorcerer says, presses himself forward so he can sniff and nuzzle at the crook of Connor’s neck, taking a strong whuff of the younger man’s scent.

Connor lets out a peal of laughter, hunching his shoulder up his neck to protect himself from the cold nose brushing at his skin. “Aah! Ha-ank! Stop!”

The bear growls playfully, even bares his lips back to nip with his teeth, but not hard enough to draw blood, barely enough to leave a mark.

Connor pushes the bear back, laughing, and Hank complies, grumbling low in his throat as the sorcerer rubs at his neck. “You’re gonna give me a hickey or something-” But there’s no bite to his words, his tone playful, eyes sparking with a look Hank recognizes instantly, and causes a fire to burn low in his belly.

Hank tries to nuzzle his head into Connor’s chest, but the sorcerer uses the book to redirect his attention. “Ha-ank! Hello? Remember, the plant? The kelpweed?” He boops the bear’s nose. “You’ll get plenty of kisses, but _later_ , and only if you help me get what we came out here for.”

The bear shakes his shaggy head, like a teasing refusal, and river water splatters all over the poor sorcerer. Connor hurriedly shuts his book to keep it from getting wet, smiling as he wipes the drops off his face with his sleeve. “Okay, okay, _two_ kisses _,”_ he compromises. “For every plant you bring back.” Connor waggles his eyebrows. “Plus a little extra, if you’re quick.”

That’s _one_ way to convince a bear. Hank butts Connor in the chest with his head, knocking the sorcerer back into the reeds. He lands on his butt, and another bright peal of laughter bursts from him as the great grizzly lumbers eagerly back into the frigid river.

The summer current is ice-cold even this late in the season from melted snow from winter’s past, but it doesn’t touch Hank as he dives in deep. His layered fur protects him from the temperature- one thing he likes about this body. The water feels cool and refreshing more than anything else, if a bit smelly. It’s hard to see the murky bottom as he fights the currents, but he can make out the dark and waving shape of the plant Connor’s book describes.

He blinks water out of his eyes when he heaves his way back onto solid ground. River rocks and pebbles dig into the pads of his feet, but they don’t break he tough skin as he shows Connor what he found.

Soft and smooth hands take the plant from his soft mouth, and even with water in his eyes, Hank can see the smile and hear the approval in Connor’s voice. “Hank!” the lovely sorcerer cries, “These are just what I’m looking for! Thank you!”

Hank drips all over the riverbed, and with a great grunt, shakes out the rest of his fur, sending the spare water flying. Connor does a cute little shriek, throwing his hands up to protect himself from the bear drying himself. “Was that really necessary?” he asks dryly as water drips down his hair.

Hank looks at him pointedly, fur no doubt sticking up in ridiculous spikes after taking a dip in the river. He grunts, and noses at the still-wet plants held in Connor’s hand. A question.

“Oh, yes some more would be lovely. I know you just dried off, but, could you get some more?”

The bear snorts, a puff of air going out from his nose, indignant. He flicks one ear, shuffles both front paws, and makes a show of standing up shortly from his back legs and landing forward to all fours. A demand, like a child throwing a fit.

Connor understands immediately, because of course he does. The sorcerer laughs, rolling his eyes, and leans forward, even as he carefully folds the retrieved plants away. “Oh, yes, of course. How rude of me.”

The sorcerer stretches out one arm; his hand wraps up and over the back of Hank’s neck as the bear leans forward with a happy and satisfied grunt. With a smile, Connor presses a sweet kiss to Hank’s soft and furry cheek. And then another one up further along the big bear’s brow.

“There,” he says. “Two kisses.” Hank sighs deep and slow. Connor smiles. “Think you can bring me more?”

Hank spends the afternoon bringing more of the long kelpweed up to his lovely sorcerer, receiving kisses in turn for every one.

It’s about midday when Hank hears the growling, the rumbling. He stands up on his hind legs, the river current swirling around his haunches. He turns his ears toward the sound, mouth parted as his powerful nose scents the air, distinct smells carried on the wind that hits the roof of his mouth.

“Hank?” Connor calls from shore. He’s wet now, too, from the multiple trips Hank has made shaking the river water from his fur and then going back in. The sorcerer sounds unsure. “Is everything okay?”

The great cursed bear grunts, falls onto his front paws, then pushes himself back up. He stands up as tall as he can, and lets out a few short growls.

A powerful gust of wind causes Hank to fall back to his front paws once more, and he turns back to Connor, lumbering through the water to his sorcerer. It’s nothing to be immediately worried about, but- still something to move away from.

Storm’s coming, should be here soon, before nightfall.

Connor looks worried as Hank approaches. “Is something wrong?” he asks, sensitive to the bear’s change in mood. “Is it another bear? Do we have to-”

Hank soothes his lover with a soft little bear kiss at his cheek, velvet-soft lips brushing the skin. It’s a reassurance, and it works its’ own brand of magic. The sorcerer relaxes, but he still looks worried. “It’s okay?”

The bear tilts his head up, gazing at the sky. It’s clear right now, but that sure isn’t to last for long. No telling how bad it would get, though. Storms and their unpredictability, especially in the summer.

He grumbles at Connor, shoulders shifting, showing his uneasiness. Another one of those times he wishes Connor could understand him better, could warn him of the oncoming storm.

“Nothing dangerous, though?” Connor asks.

Hank shakes his shaggy head. No, they should be safe from a storm. Might grow cold if they get rained on, but-

“More kelpweed, then?”

Hank grunts, and dives back into the water.

–

More hours pass. Hank starts to get more and more nervous, the scent of the storm drawing closer. Cold wind, petrichor, and rain.

Connor seems to take note of Hank’s growing anxiety, and stands when the sun starts its’ descent in the sky. It disappears behind towering pines, casting sharp shadowy spires along the ground, dark spears. “Let’s head back?” Connor asks. Despite the clear weather, Hank knows his own anxious attitude has affected him. The sorcerer holds a generous helping of kelpweed in his satchel, bound tight with bits of yarn to make the return trip back to the cabin. “I have more than enough for my potions, and I’m feeling tired. Maybe we can retire early for the night?”

Hank sees the sorcerer shivering, from where he stands, chilled from the setting sun and the wind that grows as night draws closer. The poor sorcerer is damp from all the trips Hank made into the river, and with the sun beginning to pass over the tops of the pines- it takes it’s warmth with it.

The bear perks up at the mention of having an early night with Connor. That sounds good- a cozy evening curled up in front of the crackling fire- munching on dinner wrapped up around each other. Connor falling asleep against his side while Hank rests easy with the small sorcerer’s weight against him- a comfort to know his lover is near and safe.

That doesn’t turn out to be the case, though. Mere minutes after the two set off toward the cabin, the wind begins to howl through the trees, and rain begins to fall.

“Oh,” Connor says, lifting his arm against the gale. The darkening sky almost causes his eyes to glow in the fading light- sparks of fiery amber. “You were warning me about the storm.” And he says it as a fact, not a question.

Hank bows and lifts his head in a bear nod, and he hears Connor hum through the midst of groaning trees. “That makes sense- I’m sorry for not listening better.” The sorcerer holds to the strap of his satchel, and shivers at the cold wind.

Hank shrugs his shoulders as best he can in this form, passive. Not like he had adequate means of warning Connor of it to begin with.

“It’s kind of you to be so forgiving,” Connor says, perceptive to Hank’s small gestures and cues. “But let’s hurry.”

It doesn’t get better, though. The storm seems determined to be a big one. The sky turns dark and bruised-purple, hints of gray. The wind howls greater than any pack of wolves, and the rain splatters hard and cold against the two walking the forest path. Ferns and grasses bow in humility to the power of the storm, and bits of hail start to fall on the ground, no bigger than peas.

The cold rain doesn’t touch Hank, not really with his thick covering of fur. And even with the wind he isn’t that chilled. He really worries about the hail getting his fur all clumped together from the hail; it’s a chore to straighten out, and in the past he’s usually just had to wait for it to melt before he can straighten his fur back out again.

Connor, though-

The poor sorcerer is _clearly_ freezing, arms even beginning to shake as he holds them across his chest. He pauses at one point to pat himself down, a pulse of red warmth showing at his palms. But whatever spell he’s using seems to be temporary, because not long after the warming spell is enacted, the poor thin man is back to shivering like a leaf in autumn. And his cabin is still at least a 20-minute walk away.

Hank’s den is only 5.

The bear makes the decision when the poor man sneezes so violently his whole body spasms forward. Hank lets out a surprised grunt, padding hurriedly forward and nosing at the small of Connor’s back.

“Let’s hurry, Hank-” Connor says through chattering teeth. “Not too far. Cursed storm.”

Hank doesn’t waste any time trying to convince his friend- just simply takes hold of the man’s sleeve gently in his teeth, and tugs him off in the other direction.

“What?” Connor echoes, teetering a bit, but inevitably going with the bear when Hank refuses to let go of his shirt. “Hank- what are you- the cabin is back that way-”

Hank grumbles and growls low in his throat, wishing Connor could go faster or something. The storm is only growing worse- there are even flickers of lightning illuminating the forest in bright flashes as everything grows darker. If Connor were to jump on his back, Hank wouldn’t be opposed. They might get to the warm den sooner.

Okay, warm is a big subjective, but it’s cool and dry, and that’s loads better than freezing and wet.

Connor must seem to piece together where they’re going, or he just doesn’t question Hank’s urgent redirection, because he doesn’t say anything on it. The human sniffles, wiping at his nose, getting colder by the moment.

It’s more along the lines of a 3 minute walk, but to Hank it feels like eons. He grunts and releases Connor’s sleeve when the mouth of his den shows, a dark tunnel nestled under the wide and supporting roots of a powerful tree.

“Good idea- a place to wait out the storm,” Connor says, pale and shivering but recognizing where they are. He lifts a hand, “Although- I’m going to make a few small adjustments while we’re here, if you don’t mind.”

Connor doesn’t need to hear Hank’s rumble of assent before the sorcerer is brushing his hand through the air, fingers dancing, pulling and pushing at Hank’s den.

The earth shifts as if made of putty, pliant and easily readjusted under Connor’s magic. The sorcerer sneezes again, the den growing just enough in size that it’ll be easier for Connor to slip through the tunnel.

“I won’t have bugs falling onto my hair while we’re in there,” Connor tells Hank. With a final flick of his fingers, a soft carpet of moss and grass lines the tunnel walls, spilling out of the dark mouth like a cornucopia of green and lush life. Flowers sprout up at the entrance, pink, yellow, orange, and lilac. Patterned and solid, a drape of ivy over the tunnel.

Hank gives Connor an easily-translatable look.

“Sorry,” Connor apologizes. “I’ll.. tone it down. This probably isn’t your style.”

Hank huffs out a breath, and flicks an ear. He doesn’t mind, honestly. He likes the flowers. They’re beautiful, and the sight of them will always make him think of Connor-

This doesn’t come across to the sorcerer, though, who sends away a few of the flowers, still leaving some. It’s fine. Either way, it’s far more beautiful now then it was all the years Hank was caring for this space.

Connor tucks his hands into his armpits, teeth chattering. “Sui-Suitable?”

Anxious over the poor sorcerer’s condition, Hank pushes at the small of Connor’s back, almost frantic for him to enter the den.

“I’d really rather you go in there first so you can see the changes I made to your den, Mr. Bear-”

Hank growls, nudging Connor more fervently as a strong gust of wind pushes against the both of them.

“Understood,” Connor says, and finally crouches down so he can slip into the dark den, and Hank follows in after him.

The first thing Hank is suddenly aware of is the _warmth_ that fills the den, and the wind and storm howling outside dulls to a faint rumble that doesn’t reach them under the heavy earth. Soft and comforting- specks of light like fireflies hover and float ahead of his vision, giving the previously dark and damp den a warm glow.

The mouth of the short tunnel opens up, revealing a den that’s far larger than it used to be. Certainly easier for Hank to turn in, it’s wide enough now to accommodate both Hank and Connor. The human can’t stand, has to crouch, but he can kneel without having to bend his spine and have plenty of room above his head. And with Connor’s magic keeping it warm, they don’t need to worry about any cold coming into the space.

The lights allow Hank to clearly see every nook and cranny of his den, and he can see and feel that the grass beneath his paws turned into pelts once he entered the roomy part- fur thick and dark and soft. In the corner, there’s even a couple of fluffy pillows and soft-looking blankets folded against the wall.  
  
“I hope this is okay,” Connor says to Hank. He’s still shivering despite the warmth, and Hank sees his love’s fingers tremble as he struggles to undo the clasp of his cloak. Hank frowns. If he was in his human form, he could take care of it for Connor, would take hold of his trembling hands and move them to the side. Undo the little bit of metal and brush the cloak off.

Connor goes on, not noticing Hank’s lost trail of thought. “I wasn’t too thrilled at the idea of curling up on cold earth after I was already wet from the storm outside. So I hope you aren’t too cross with this.” He casts an apologetic look over his shoulder at Hank, still shivering from the cold. “And the pelts aren’t real- they’re just magically manifested, I promise. No bears were killed for the comfort of this den.”

Hank grunts, amused by Connor’s need to explain himself, and actually rather pleased with the changes made to his den. If it’s more comfortable for Connor, then it makes no difference to him. Not like he was staying here that much, anyway, especially since he and Connor have been bedding together in his cabin more often than not.

The bear closes the distance between he and Connor. He rests his large head over the sorcerer’s shoulder, uses his powerful neck to keep Connor leaning back into his broad and furred chest. He rumbles deep in his throat, the sound echoing through his whole body. Connor sighs, and compliantly does as Hank wants. “You’re so warm, Mr. Bear,” he breathes, the sound a hum.

He’s soaked to the bone, still. Hank takes the collar of Connor’s shirt, careful with his teeth, and tugs on it. A demand, a request- however Connor wants to look at it, Hank can’t stand knowing his love is cold after all that hiking through the storm.

“Are you sure?” Connor asks, peering back at Hank. “Will you swear to keep me warm if I take it off?”

Hank rumbles and snorts indignantly, as if such a thing could even be a question, but Connor is already shucking his shirt off, arms pale, bare skin dotted with freckles.

The bear immediately tugs Connor to him in a bear hug, his large forearm crossing Connor’s chest and pulling him back. He wants to lie on his side and hold the sorcerer like a personal teddy bear (ironic imagery be damned), and keep Connor safe and warm and away from all harm.

Connor hums contently as he snuggles back into Hank’s hold. “Mm, my own personal teddy bear.”

Hank snorts, and with his arm still keeping a tight hold on Connor, rolls back so that the sorcerer lays down on the full expanse of his chest. A soft little sound of surprise escapes him, but he doesn’t seem to mind as he just wiggles more firmly back against Hank to get comfortable.

“Guess I’m the teddy bear,” he says with a smile. Outside, Hank can still hear the thunder and the wind, muffled from the earth. He noses at Connor’s hair, holding with both arms. He grunts, and rolls again so the both of them are on their side.

And Hank is so comfortable, so at ease with Connor that he just about falls asleep with his sorcerer held and tucked in close.

He nearly does- his eyes drifting closed, his breath deepening in sleep-

Then a small butt wiggles and pushes back against him.

Hank grunts low, the sound enough to be passed off as being in his sleep, and he shifts a little.

Connor is still for one thoughtful and considerate moment, and then he pushes back again, insistent.

It’s a little off-base, a bit higher than where Hank’s actual _crotch_ is in this form. Right now Connor is just grinding back against his lower stomach, but the intention couldn’t be more clear.

Hank growls a careful warning, and shifts his position where he still keeps hold of Connor.

“ _Connor_ ,” he tries to growl, low and deep in his chest when the sorcerer grinds back against him, but all that comes out is unintelligible animal sounds.

Connor looks over his shoulder at Hank, grinning in that teasing little way of his. “I promised you we’d have some fun today, didn’t I?”

Worry for Connor presses down over Hank’s chest, and he aches to wish he could ask Connor if he’s sure, if he’s certain he’ll be safe. They’ve never.. they don’t… Sure they’ve talked about it before, while Hank was in his human form, and they humored and mused at the idea that it should be possible for Hank to.. _bed_ Connor in this form, for lack of better words. But-

“ _Are you sure?_ ” he asks again, voice low and throaty, though he knows Connor can’t understand what he’s saying.

“I know we’ve talked about it, and I know you’re worried,” Connor bites his lip, and looks so damn kissable, if only Hank had actual lips. “But I’m a _magical sorcerer_ \- I’m not going to break. I can take it- and if it gets to be too much, I promise to tell you and we can stop, okay?”

Hank rumbles, wordless, and nuzzles his head against Connor’s back, huffing. Stubborn sorcerer, always getting his way…

But fine. He wants it, just as much as Connor does. The idea of claiming, of _mating_ with Connor in this form--

“ _Fine_ ,” he rumbles, and gives a careful, answering thrust of his hips against Connor. He leans forward to brush his lips at the sorcerer’s neck, and nip at the soft skin there. “ _But the moment you feel uncomfortable, you tell me._ ”

“God, Hank, I get it,” Connor laughs after listening to the whole tirade from his cursed-bear lover. He rolls a bit in Hank’s huge arms, and smiles softly. Fingers stretch to curl in Hank’s fur under his chin, thick and soft. Tilting his head so he can brush his lips on the underside of Hank’s jaw, it causes the great beast to shiver at the delicate touch. “If you’re not comfortable, though,” Connor murmurs, “if you don’t think you’d be able to.. control yourself or too afraid.. then it’s certainly not something I’ll push. I want us _both_ to- _oh_!”

It’s the final allowance from Connor that pushes Hank, and with a satisfied grunt, he noses at Connor’s neck, showing his teeth to nibble at the sensitive skin there, though not hard enough to break skin. The sorcerer whines, rolling his hips up against Hank’s heavy weight. “Ah- Hank- Hank-!”

The bear growls again, low and deep. Even with Connor’s pants still on, Hank can smell his arousal. Both paws at Connor’s shoulders bracket him in. The sorcerer takes hold of Hank’s head, grabbing onto his cheeks and angling his head so the bear can look right in his eyes. “And Mr. Bear- I want to take all of it. Understand me?” One of those soft and pale hands go down Hank’s neck, down his broad chest, and lower still. He doubts Connor is going to be able to reach – Hank is so much bigger than he is – but the cursed were-bear can feel the arousal that heats through his whole body- warmth and heat that pools in his hips. It’s different than he’s used to as a man, but familiar all the same.

“ _All_ of it,” Connor says again, voice firm and unrelenting, meaning clear.

Hank grunts, and nods his head, understanding, pleased and warm. “ _My brave little cub,_ ” he growls, folding one paw under Connor’s back and easily lifting his body up to give the sorcerer a soft little kiss with his velvety bear lips at the man’s cheek. Connor laughs, smiling, and lightly pushes the bear away.

“C’mon, Hank. Don’t ruin the moment and get all sappy on me.” Once his back hits the soft fur pelt beneath, the impatient human wriggles out of his damp pants and underwear.

This isn’t the first time the two have been intimate together, but Hank thinks every time that Connor is beautiful. Soft, lithe limbs, a smooth torso spotted with freckles and lined with fine hairs. He’s eternally young and gorgeous, far more than Hank ever was or could be, yet Connor is more than Hank ever thought he would have.

Connor is already half-hard, his length growing pink from just the short amount of grinding done between them. His cock is far smaller than Hank’s, lean in an elegant way, poking up from a thick nest of dark curls.

The musk from his lover hits Hank’s sensitive bear-nose almost at once, and he can’t stop himself from bowing his head to sniff at the center of Connor’s legs.

Connor’s hand grabs tight to his fur, and his breath shortens. “Hank-” he gasps softly, already raspy as he tightens his hold on the bear’s shoulder. “You- be careful, I-”

Hank rumbles deep. “ _I’ve always wanted to do this-”_ and licks a wide, slick stripe up Connor’s half-erect cock, his long bear tongue easily wrapping around its’ girth.

The sorcerer’s reaction is immediate; his whole body spasms, and his hips snap into Hank’s mouth without an ounce of control. A cry, sweet and delicious to Hank’s ears, cuts from his throat, and his hands tighten their hold in the bear’s fur. “Ahh-hh! Oh- Hank, shi-”

Hank growls deep in his chest, rumbling with contentment. His scent is thick and salty, and the sorcerer’s length stiffens, hardening before Hank’s very eyes and tongue until he’s fully erect. The head curves back to touch his belly, giving Hank a full view of all his lover has to offer.

The bear growls approvingly, and admires the red flush already starting to steal down Connor’s neck and down to his collarbone. The sorcerer has his head resting back on the pelts, his eyes are hooded as he gazes heatedly at Hank. “God, that’s so good- your tongue, Hank..”

Hank snuffs out a puff of air from his nose, and settles down on his stomach, propping himself perfectly above Connor’s arousal. His long tongue slips out, licking his lips, relishing the taste of Connor. He looks at the sorcerer with a coy, devious look, then bows his head again.

Connor cries out deliciously once more. Hank’s tongue easily wraps around the human’s cock, hot and pulsing with need. His cursed bear form was made for reaching into the depths of honeycombs for honey and bones for their marrow- and now he uses it to bring out more and more of those sweet sounds from Connor as he laves attention on his weeping, pulsing cock.

“Hank- fuck, sweetheart, love, please-” the sorcerer begs faintly. His hands open and close, tightening harder as he nears his climax.

By now, Hank knows the signals of Connor’s body when he’s close to tipping over that edge. So he slows his licks when he feels the tremors going through his lover’s cock, when the appendage spasms and twitches with interest. Hank watches it, pleased beyond words. He can feel his own cock starting to slip from his sheathe- the red flesh sensitive to the open air.

The bear grunts, and gives a playful look directed at the human beneath him, heavy shoulders shifting in place. He growls, not in an unfriendly way, like a question.

“Hank, gods,” Connor sighs, voice a whimper. “That tongue, I’m so close-” He nearly whines with want, slim hips bucking- the tip of his cock even bumping Hank’s chin as beads of pre-come pearl at the head. “Please you gotta- More, I need-”

It’s difficult in this form, but Hank does his best to raise one eyebrow in a speculative manner. “ _Are you sure_?” he tries to ask in his bear speech, even though Connor won’t understand any of it. “ _Don’t want you to finish too soon, not have any fun_ -”

“Ha-ank,” Connor complains. He arches his hips up again. “Less growling, more licking. I want- I want you to-”

The bear huffs, fighting a bear-grin as he leans forward. With one heavy paw, he rests it on the center of Connor’s chest. The weight presses down, grounding the wanton sorcerer into the pelts. _“Want what, little sorcerer_?”

Connor whines like a spoiled brat not getting his way, but he eases under the comforting press of Hank’s paw on his chest, which is certainly a first, as far as human-grizzly interactions go. With Hank’s claws so close to his chest, as long and sharp as steak knives, most humans would be shaking in terror, not arousal.

This time, Hank growls, low and intentional. A command. He doesn’t need to speak any words, even just to himself, for this one to be understood.

“I want you- I want your tongue,” Connor pants, giving voice to what he wants. The bear stares him down, and Connor whimpers. He clearly fights to keep his hands off himself, instead burying them into Hank’s thick shoulder fur. “Please, Mr. Bear. I want your tongue on my cock. In- My.. In my hole.” And he blushes so prettily, pink face somehow growing pinker.

Hank growls, satisfied, and flexes his paw, barely curling his claws so they press _just_ hard enough into the sensitive skin at Connor’s chest. The sorcerer whimpers, but lets his head fall back contently when he gets what he wants.

It’s easy for Hank to obey- especially when it’s for his sweet sorcerer lover, and it’s hard to resist the captivating smell of Connor, anyway. Even if they hadn’t already made love before, he would still want a sweet taste of that delicious nectar coming from the smaller man’s cock, his scent thick and heavy in the cramped but cozy den.

He licks long and slow once more up Connor’s heated length, moaning deep in his throat, delighting in the soft, jagged little cry that comes out of his love. Connor’s hand spasms; his hips do cute little thrusts up towards Hank’s mouth, and his mouth falls open, slack in pleasure.

That doesn’t even begin to describe how he reacts when Hank’s long and skilled tongue slips down past the root of Connor’s cock, brushes briefly at his balls, then goes further.

Connor whines, lifts his hips for better access, wiggling carefully as he tries to brace his shoulders on the soft pelts of the den. “Hank- please, don’t tease-”

Hank rumbles, “ _Not trying to tease_ ,” he says just to himself, and carefully laps his tongue in-between the clefts of Connor’s cheeks. He finds that puckered little hole, and laves gently over it.

The sorcerer trembles, whimpering, and clenches around nothing. “Oh, gods, that tongue-”

Hank applies more saliva, lapping at Connor’s twitching hole. With each swipe of his tongue, he pokes a little bit in, breaching his lover a little bit more every time he passes over it. And from every brush, Connor lets out a different sound- light and so sweetly aroused. His length tips back and touches the softness of his belly, slick with his precome and Hank’s saliva.

“Okay, gods, no more, Hank, please-” Connor finally pants, squeezing his hand in Hank’s fur and getting the bear to stop with just a light touch. “I’m ready. I need you in me. Fuck, please.”

Hank grunts, but compliantly tilts his head back, and starts to get into position as Connor pushes himself up so he’s sitting. He eyes the middle of Hank’s legs, and raises a sly brow. “Maybe I can help you with that?”

The bear grunts again, and Hank can’t help but feel some degree of embarrassed. His length pokes partially out of the sheathe, red and tapered at the end, aching and throbbing with arousal. He whimpers low in the back of his throat, and Connor laughs, pitying.

“Aw, come, now. What kind of partner would I be if I didn’t help you out, huh?” he says. Connor sits himself onto his knees, and encourages Hank to sit back on his haunches. The bear does one better, and lounges back against the far wall of the den, his erection poking out.

Connor hums as he sits himself in Hank’s lap, reaching with one hand to delicately run up and down the length of Hank’s cock. “Think I’ll be able to take it?” he asks, voice light and airy, conversational.

Hank growls, his hips automatically thrusting up into Connor’s touch.

The sorcerer grins, and applies greater pressure to Hank’s length. “Feel good, Mr. Bear?” More thunder clashes outside, and Hank lets his head fall back against the wall. He groans, and Connor’s deviant little smile grows. The human takes his length in hand, running his palm up and down, bringing more of it out. “Just let me know if it gets to be too much,” he says, still ever-kind and ever-patient.

Hank groans, whimpering as he thrusts a little more into Connor’s hand. His palm goes slow near the tip, then runs faster, slick from Connor’s hand, no doubt using magic.

“ _Good, so good_ ,” he pants.

Connor must hear the approving tone in his growls, because his eyes shine. “Are you ready?” he asks, and surely he must be teasing or being coy, because _he’s_ the one with Hank’s aching, hard cock in his hand. “Because I don’t think I can wait for another minute.”

Hank grunts, an agreement, his throat making a kind of high whining sound as he tilts his head back. His fur brushes uncomfortably against the walls of the den, and he thrusts up more into Connor’s hand, mouth parted as he pants.

“How do you want me, Mr. Bear?” Connor asks, and shows a grin that’s practically feral in nature. “Like this? Or- or with you over me?” He sounds just as breathless as Hank feels.

The cursed man groans low in his throat. Any and every option sounds appealing. He could never say no to Connor, regardless of the outcome, here. Hank blinks heavy eyelids at the sorcerer resting with his full weight on his body; both of their cocks nearly brush each other with every heaving breath.

“ _However you want, Connor,_ ” he tries to growl, the sound incomprehensible animal mumbling from his chest. He lets his head fall back against the den, wishing for more of that addicting friction against his cock. Connor’s hand, his hole, his mouth- Hank won’t last for long, regardless. “ _Please_ ,” and it sounds like a whine.

Connor laughs soft under his breath, and sometimes Hank wonders if the sorcerer maybe _can_ understand him. “I see- then..” He shifts his hips over Hank’s, teasing his slick, prepped hole along the base of Hank’s cock. “Perhaps.. You would let me take you like this.. I want to see you, Mr. Bear.”

Hank makes a kind of high whining, keening noise, and nods his assent, unable to help his hips from thrusting up a little, brushing his cock to Connor’s. Anything, fuck, anything-

Then the tip of his cock finds that puckered entrance.

A harsh puff of air huffs out of Hank’s lungs. Great paws on Connor’s hips, he attempts to guide him, to ease his own body before the sorcerer slides himself down.

Connor balances himself, bracing one hand at Hank’s chest, curled in the thick brown fur. The other reaches back, taking hold of the red and throbbing cock-

“Hank,” Connor says, drawing the cursed bear’s attention. Hank shifts his eyes up, and finds those soulful brown eyes. He waits, and watches. The sorcerer’s lips turn up into a creeping smile. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve been wanting to do this with you-?”

Hank doesn’t have time to growl any kind of response, because Connor starts to sink down onto Hank’s cock.

The tightness, the heat, _fuck_ -

Hank bites back a groan, showing his teeth, hips aching as he arches up, pushing further into Connor’s clenching heat. The turned-man fights a growl, and he distracts himself with the sweet smile from the centuries-old sorcerer.

Connor’s gaze shifts between watching himself lower down over Hank, or finding the bear’s eyes, mouth parted as he slides down.

Hank wants to soothe him, to assure he doesn’t have to push himself, doesn’t have to take him all the way- but Connor is tight, and slick, and determined. Before Hank even realizes it, the man has taken him all the way down to the root, his walls squeezing over Hank’s thick and sensitive cock.

The bear moans, whimpering, and Connor shows a sly grin. “Knew I could take all of you,” he says, biting his tongue teasingly. He rolls his hips, feeling how Hank fills him, eliciting another desperate sound from the bear underneath. “If your cock was already big in your human form- _gods_ \- I couldn’t even imagine your cursed form.”

Hank curls his lips, and chuffs out a bark of laughter, or at least as best of a laugh he can make in this body, and settles to letting Connor ride him at his own pace and comfort. Of course, the picture Connor paints, one of him wanting this, _thinking_ of what it would be like to fuck himself on Hank’s cock, even in his cursed form--

It’s arousing, first of all, but more than that, Hank only feels great awe of Connor, the sorcerer who never fails to impress him. To think someone could love him and want him, even when he’s like this- a monster-

The bear grumbles, breath catching, a ball in his throat.

“..Hank?”

The bear blinks, tulip-petal ears turning to the sound of his lover resting on him. Connor’s brown eyes, wide with concern, stare down at the bear, lips parted, looking lovely and absolutely kissable. If only Hank could-

“Hank,” Connor’s voice again, and then a human hand touches Hank’s face, holding it. Connor’s soft thumb brushes along the turned-bear’s cheek, and Hank watches, astounded, when he sees the drip of moisture formed there when Connor draws back. A tear.

“What’s wrong, my love?” Connor asks, voice growing more fretful as he leans forward, starting to shift like he’s about to slip off Hank’s cock. But his only concern seems to be Hank, and he reaches with both hands now to hold the bear’s head. “You’re not hurt or uncomfortable, are you? Am I doing something wrong?”  
  
Hank shakes his head, and wishes desperately that he could say something in his form. But with these dammed lips, his bear tongue, sharp bear teeth in the way-

He settles for trying to communicate otherwise. Brushing Connor’s hand from his face, he lifts it beneath a paw, and guides it down, until it rests onto his chest. He hopes the meaning is clear.

Hank can see the understanding in Connor, the uptick of his eyebrows and the shadow over his eyes as he realizes the seriousness of what Hank means. A soul interface- Hank wouldn’t request such a thing if it weren’t important.

The bear relaxes against the wall of his den, and waits.

Connor doesn’t ask for clarification- after being together and close for so long, he knows Hank, he knows what it means.

The sorcerer sits himself a little bit more comfortably onto the bear, knowing he’s about to form magic, small thin hips shifting. His right palm splays wide over Hank’s chest, over his sternum, and the other higher up, just below Hank’s right shoulder.

Then the glowing- there’s white-blue light splitting from the gaps of Connor’s fingers, the strongest light coming closer to the center. Hank watches as the light even takes over the irises of his beloved sorcerer’s eyes, and then-

Then Hank _feels_ Connor, knows he’s right there at the very edge of his soul, as far as he’s allowed to go with the curse keeping part of him locked away- the most human part. It always feels odd when Connor interfaces with Hank, like Hank’s body isn’t big enough, that there needs to be a kind of accommodation for the extra soul burying itself into him-

But over time, as he and Connor have interfaced like this more and more- Connor’s presence, his soul pressed in as close to Hank’s as possible, has started to feel more like a welcome old friend than like an intrusion. Like the sorcerer belongs there, like their souls should never have parted to begin with.

“ _An after-effect from interfacing so often,”_ Connor informs Hank, his voice close and coming from within, even though his lips haven’t moved an inch. “ _Common as well, especially with someone the sorcerer has close feelings for_.”

Hank chuckles. “ _Close, huh_?” he thinks, still present enough in his body to shift, angling his hips to find that spot in Connor that always makes the sorcerer cry out. The movement is enough for the man’s mouth to part in pleasure, and for the hands pressed to the bear’s chest to clench.

“ _Hank!”_

“ _I’d say we’re as close as we can get, kid.”_

Connor’s laughter, there at his soul, sends another clear wave of emotion through the entirety of Hank’s being. Bright and clear and warm as the winter sun. He tries to turn his mouth up into a smile, but fails. His muscles in this form aren’t made for such an action, but he relaxes them as best he can to imitate it.

He feels Connor grin, and lean down in close, his soul nipping and teasing at him. “ _Now Hank, my darling, my sweet.. what’_ _s bothering you?”_

Connected to his love, Hank sighs, and lets all of his emotion pour through, gates wide open.

He lets Connor feel his love, his adoration for the sorcerer, his awe and amazement at how the man continues to love him completely, even with his curse keeping him from being fully humn.

It’s overwhelming for Hank; he’s always been terrible with words, and it’s so much easier to just let the emotions flow into the sorcerer like water so that Connor can know everything at once. Hank closes his eyes, breathing out harshly through his nose, and allows the aching love he feels for his sorcerer go in a powerful wave.

Still faintly aware of his body, Hank senses how Connor’s hand clenches in his fur, breath catching, and how the sorcerer leans forward so his weight rests further up along Hank’s chest.

“ _Hank_ ,” he breathes, his voice shaking. “ _Love_ -”

“ _I love you so much, Connor_ ,” Hank sends across the bond, emotion choking him up even here and now. “ _You have no idea, and I don’t know how I can tell you, so you can really-_ ”

“ _I know, Hank_ ,” the sorcerer sighs, and kisses Hank’s nose, his cheeks, eyes still glowing that pale, bright blue. “ _Everything, all your emotions, I can feel it_ -” Hot tears fall onto Hank’s fur. “ _And can you feel it? My love for you_?”

Hank breathes out. “ _I can_.” He might not be as sensitive to the magic and the bond as Connor is, being a magic-wielder, but he can feel it, a positive feedback loop of ever-continuing love between him and Connor that just goes on and on. It’s like seeing the sun come up over the horizon after a winter of darkness, like finding the moon after a lifetime of cloudy nights-

“ _Fuck me, Hank,”_ Connor pleads, and Hank doesn’t know if the voice is coming from their interface or from the den where they hide, warm and safe from the storm outside. “ _Please, I need you-”_

Hank moves, overtaken by desire. How could he refuse such a sweet request? He moves carefully enough so that Connor still has his hands touching Hank, keeping the soul-interface intact, slams the sorcerer onto the ground, pressing into the pelts.

The spark of arousal that travels up Hank’s body- he can’t tell if it belongs to Connor or to him- though it’s likely from them both feeding off each other. “ _Mine_ ,” Hank growls. He leans down, opens his maw to show his teeth, want flaring through him, body and soul.

In the transition between back to front, Connor slipped off Hank’s cock, and the bear’s length now hangs in empty air, angry red and hard, slick with his and Connor’s arousal.

“Please,” Connor pants, looking so pretty and debauched as his mouth opens, fisting a hand into Hank’s fur. “Fuck me, Hank, claim me-”

Hank growls, lifts his lips in a possessive snarl, and uses one paw and his nose to gesture Connor into the right position.

Connor finds Hank’s eyes for one brief moment, eyes heady with lust. He bites his bottom lip, plumping it up with his teeth, then draws his hand back carefully so that the soul-interface disconnects, and they’re brought fully back to the den. The haze of the interface flickers away, and all Hank’s senses of the den make their return. The damp and heavy scent of earth, the faint and dancing lights, the thunder and pounding storm outside their cozy den.

The lovely sorcerer can’t hear into Hank’s thoughts anymore, but the love is still there, and Hank makes his intentions well known as he uses his paw to push at Connor’s side, showing his teeth in warning.

Connor laughs, amused, like there isn’t a 600 pound grizzly baring his teeth at him. But the lithe sorcerer obeys, and turns, getting into the position on his knees, body bent down so his weight rests on his forearms. “My, my, Mr. Bear, what big teeth you have-” he teases. Damn sorcerer even has the cheek to wiggle that smooth and cute ass at him.

Hank huffs out one breath in laughter, but he’s quick to bar Connor in, both huge paws braced next to Connor’s shoulders. He settles his weight down over him, breath hot, an instinct causing his mouth to open more, hovering over his shoulders.

Between his legs, Hank’s cock brushes at Connor’s hole. The sorcerer whimpers, a delicious, sweet sound, and arches back, “Hank,” he pleads, and Hank snarls in answer, possessive. One paw hooks under Connor’s stomach, positioning him, his excitement already causing his hips to start thrusting, wanting more of that tight heat wrapped around his cock.

_Connor, fuck-_ he thinks, desire making his mind cloudy. Connor cries out deliciously as the tip of Hank’s cock starts to find that tight and all-encompassing warmth, and the cursed bear pants, hips shifting so he can find the perfect angle-

“Hank, don’t tease- please- _fuck-!”_ Connor cries out, wriggling, and Hank bares his teeth again, warning the wanton man beneath him to keep still. But the sorcerer pays no heed to the bear’s warning above him, and begs, “Please, I need you, I need you, breed me- _augh!_ -”

Hank’s cock finds home in Connor’s tight heat, and with a powerful roar, he keeps Connor’s body still as he presses the needy sorcerer down into the pelts that line his warm den, instinct pressing in and crowding all thought from his mind. “ _Mine, my sweet mate, mine to fuck_ -”

Connor cries out, small and delicious little sounds slipping from every hit of Hank’s cock, their hips meeting thrust for thrust as the cursed were-bear hilts fully inside him. “Hank!” he groans, “Please- harder- in me- find-!”

The once-man growls from deep in his chest, and stops the sorcerer’s wails as he latches his teeth to the back of Connor’s neck, biting down carefully but firmly to keep him in place, stop him from wriggling.

Connor’s breath hitches at the holding bit, but his pleads stop. Hank growls, pleased, and continues his quick rhythm of fucking and claiming the man beneath him.

_That’s right, you’re mine, now,_ he growls. _My mate, keep you here, safe, spill my seed, fill you with my cubs-_

His mate whimpers, grinding his body back and forth, and Hank’s nostrils flare at the scent of arousal that flares from his mate. The bear grunts with each thrust, panting, chasing his climax.

_Every bull for miles_ _would_ _be able to smell your heat,_ he thinks, _But not now, with my scent all over you, they’ll know to stay far away- you’re mine-_ His jaw tightens, and his hips rabbit faster, hitting a spot that makes Connor scream- and the cursed bear knows from the stuttering of the man’s hips that his mate reached his own climax. The sorcerer goes limp beneath him, weak from pleasure, an open vessel for Hank to fuck and claim and _breed-_

_That’s it, give yourself to me, good mate, sweet mate-_

“Hank,” Connor groans from beneath, throat choking on the words, and says the magic words. “Make me yours-”

It’s more than enough for Hank, mind whiting out, and he thrusts quick and deep, hitting that spot in his lover again and again relentlessly, relishing in how those walls tighten hard around his cock, milking him-

And Hank comes.

The bear snarls, groaning in pleasure as those walls squeeze and spasm around him, claiming his mate with blood and seed, riding those waves of pleasure that chase up his body as he empties all he has into his lover underneath.

Connor pants, body slack, smiling. “Fuck,” he sighs, wiggling contently, even as the feral part of Hank causes the bear to growl in warning. He licks at Connor’s shoulder and neck, lapping at the pinpricks of blood formed from his bite. He feels regret for hurting his mate, but he served his purpose, being a good mate and keeping still for him to claim.

“We gotta do that again, but another time,” Connor sighs, and wipes his face with the pelt against his cheek, and with the palm of his hand, unaware of how lost Hank is, still buried in his instincts. “Fuck, that was good-”

Hank rumbles in agreement, his mind starting to return, though he keeps his hips nestled into Connor’s heat, cock still twitching as it empties all he has into his mate.

He blinks, shakes his head, and noses at Connor’s shoulder. The bleeding has stopped, but he can’t let go of Connor yet, though the sorcerer doesn’t seem too keen to move, anyway.

Hank pants, coming down and back to himself as he holds to Connor fiercely, shifting, holding him close with his forearms. He nuzzles Connor, sighs, then growls contently as he shifts the both of them so that he lays on his side with Connor held to his chest. He laps at Connor’s hair, groans and grunts, content as they settle into the afterglow while he remains in the sorcerer, filling him.

“You certainly seemed to enjoy yourself,” Connor hums, tilting his head back to find Hank’s eyes. He smiles. “Was I good for you, Mr. Bear?”

Hank growls, and pulls Connor even closer. He hides his face, ashamed of how lost in his instincts he found himself, worried that he might lose control and _really_ hurt Connor if they choose to do this again-

“Did I do okay?” Connor asks, a note of worry in his voice, concerned by Hank’s reaction.

The bear grunts, snorts, and licks Connor’s cheek, snuffles his hair in a bear kiss, and nuzzles him, aches again and wishes for words and emotions to span across empty space and find Connor, all so he can tell his darling dear how good he was for him.

_The very best,_ he longs to say.

Connor’s body relaxes, and sighs. “Okay-” he tugs at Hank’s fur. “And I want you to know I enjoyed you, too,” he says, as if Hank might forget. “Everything we did together? I loved it. Gods, that was good.”

Hank sighs, feeling a bit more at ease from that, and holds his precious sorcerer close.

_I love you_ , he thinks, blinking sleepy eyes as Connor finally slips off Hank’s cock. A gush of Hank’s spend drips out of him, and the sorcerer sighs, then sinks down low. He slinks down Hank’s body until he’s positioned carefully in the bear’s lap, and gazes at the spent cock, softened and already starting to recede back into its’ sheathe.

“Fuck that was good,” the sorcerer sighs again, and willingly climbs back up Hank’s body when the bear presses against his lower back, urging him back up. He keeps going, prodded and pushed by Hank. The bear leans back until he’s positioned completely on his back, and Connor hovers over him.

“Are you sure?” Connor asks, breathless, eyes dilating from the position Hank’s guided him in to.

Hank grunts, nostrils flaring. _I can smell how you want it, how much you like the idea, cub_ , he thinks, and makes the first movement. His long tongue slips out, and touches to Connor’s dripping and puffy hole.

Connor’s thighs shake from the strain of keeping himself upright, knees braced at Hank’s shoulders, but he manages to keep himself from going limp as Hank takes care of him, and cleans him up with the most tender and intimate of touches. He keeps himself stable, holding onto Hank’s thick fur at his shoulders, and keeps his head tipped back in total pleasure.

Hank feels a deep rumble of satisfaction in him when he sees and feels the slight thrusting of Connor’s hips, pushing him closer and closer until-

“Hank,” Connor whimpers, trying to stop himself. “Honey- sweetheart- I can’t- I’m going to-”

The bear growls, holds onto Connor’s waist as well as he can with his clumsy paws, and slips all of Connor’s cute little cock into his mouth, the sorcerer’s hard length slipping delicately past soft bear lips and sharp teeth, and growls again.

“ _Come_.”

Connor released a high-pitched moan, mouth slack, throwing his head back and pulling at Hank’s fur like he can’t hold back, and thrusts his hips in to Hank’s mouth, coming down his throat. The tip of his cock brushes the roof of Hank’s mouth, and the bear rumbles with satisfaction, licking and lapping his lover’s sex clean once he finishes.

When he’s done, Connor sinks back down, starry-eyed and hazy. “Gods, Hank,” he sighs, and runs his fingers lovingly down Hank’s face. “My darling, my dearest, gods- you’re amazing.”

Hank grunts, pride sparking in his chest. He leans back against the den, and gathers Connor close once more.

The lights around the two of them dim, and Connor lifts and secures Hank’s thick and warm arms up around his naked body. “My bear, my Mr. Bear,” he hums to himself, and tilts his head back for one quick kiss to Hank’s cheek, then snuggles in close, while Hank holds onto him possessively. “Keep me warm, keep me safe?” he asks, and the lights that once lit the den now sparkle like stars, their own little solar-system under the ground.

Hank buries his nose into Connor’s nape, sighs, and takes in his scent. Happy and warm and sex-addled and content.

“ _Of course_ , _forever, darling._ ”

And there, from the shelter of the storm, safe in each other’s embrace, cursed bear and loving sorcerer fall into peaceful slumber.

–

**Author's Note:**

> comments and incomprehensible keysmashing are welcome!


End file.
